Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (11 page)

"Bloody 'ell!"

Hiding the portmanteau within the wardrobe, she flung herself on the bed in agony. It was not leaving Windhaven that tore her apart; it was leaving Pax.

She could remember as clearly as if it were yesterday standing in the library on her arrival at Windhaven. From the moment her eyes had met Pax's penetrating black ones, Leslie felt as though she had come home. Her life in India and her long journey to England had led her as surely as a compass to the one place on earth she knew she would be happy. Leslie convinced herself in the ensuing years that it was the place she loved even though she recognized she was never happier than when she was in her guardian's company.

Her first summer at Windhaven flashed through her mind in a succession of sun-filled images. Learning to swim, fish and hunt. Riding to the tenants' holdings. Tucked up on the leather sofa in the library with books of pirates and knights. Picnic lunches in the hills. Her first horse. But every frame of the pictures held another image beside the smiling boyish figure she had been at that time. Each memory enclosed Pax, his thatch of black hair blowing wildly in the wind or rumpled as his strong hands pushed it away from his forehead as he read to her. Leslie's heart swelled with her love for him.

But she would not marry the man.

She had seen the look of annoyance on his face as he told her they were to be married. He knew her only as his ward, a boy of fifteen. He knew nothing of the female she was or would be. He knew nothing of her hopes and dreams. Up until his discovery of her identity, he had liked Leslie, was even proud of her. This did not require any particularly deep probe of her personality. They were enjoyable companions, good friends. However, Leslie was aware of the kind of relationship required to make a good marriage. Respect, trust and friendship were the key words. Pax, in his inability to see the essence of her, could hold none of these feelings for her. And of course, he did not love her.

Marriage without love was not to be considered, she argued stubbornly. She had spent all of her early years trying to win the love of her father. He was fond of her and perhaps in his own way he had loved her. But she knew when she was not in his presence he did not think of her or worry about her. She would not marry Pax and live in hope that someday he would return her affection. Crossing the room she threw herself on the bed, exhausted by the emotional upheavals of the day.

The only good thing to come out of the "great discovery", was that Cecily had departed. Leslie recalled how the woman's hysterical cries had echoed down the hall some time in the late morning. There followed a series of door slammings, high-pitched screaming and the bumping of trunks along the corridors as the ladies Cleavon stormed to their carriage. Although Jacko had not commented, his smug expression told Leslie that he too had not cared much for the Lady Cecily or her mother.

Leslie dozed in exhaustion, waking at eight, refreshed as Jacko placed a tray of strong tea and sandwiches on the window seat. The two conspirators fortified themselves as they discussed the plans for their escape.

"It's set for when the Duke is at dinner," Jacko announced.

The sensation of falling, struck Leslie in the pit of her stomach, and her fingers clenched around the handle of the porcelain cup. Her face expressionless, she placed the cup on the tray, pressing her shoulder blades against the wall of the embrasure to stiffen her resolve.

"I'm packed." She nodded toward the wardrobe.

"We'll have to travel light," Jacko warned.

"It's just one bag."

"I'll take it when I go down. And your greatcoat. If you're seen in the halls, we want nothing to give your intentions away." The old man sipped sourly at the tea wishing it were good strong ale. At his age, he did not relish the idea of a ride through the night to an unknown destination. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face for Leslie reached over in concern.

"You do not need to come with me, Jacko. I would be fine." At the old man's scandalized expression, she smiled in part relief and part humor. "I know. 'What would the Captain say?'"

"Exactly! I may not approve of this havey-cavey business, but I'll not be left out of the adventure," Jacko scoffed. "Besides, Manji stays."

"What! He can't. Pax will skin him alive for helping us."

"Manji says not. The Duke be a fair man, all things considered. At any rate I think it makes good sense. Once our absence is discovered, Manji thinks the Duke will come after us. Neither of us would excite much attention so we might slip through. But nobody would forget seeing Manji."

Leslie's eyes filled with tears. The three of them had always been together. It augured ill for any army to split forces, and she felt a premonition of disaster shudder down her spine. Sniffing damply, she acknowledged the sense of the decision. Forlorn blue eyes met the concerned silvery ones, and Leslie nodded her acceptance.

"Did you tell him---" she began.

"He'll be joining us soon, Leslie. Never fear."

They agreed on a time and a place to meet and then Jacko left, taking her belongings. Time crept by slowly as she waited for the dinner bells. So lost in thought was she that Leslie did not hear the scratching at the door and jumped as a voice broke through her consciousness.

"May I come in?"

"O---of course," Leslie stammered as Lady Titwiliver teetered on dainty red heels across the carpeting.

Even in her agitation the girl was able to smile at the bizarre costume of the old lady. A caftan, violently patterned with figures of ungainly birds and one rather cross-eyed monkey, billowed out around the plump little figure. Her head was swathed in a top-heavy turban of bright red satin, surmounted by a single red feather, writhing like an angry cobra. Sparkling brown eyes took in the girl's awed expression, and Lady Titwiliver twirled for effect before, with a swoosh of silk, she sank down on the window seat.

"My gratefully departed husband only approved of dun colored habits. I wear these in hopes that, wherever he is, he can see how much I'm enjoying myself." Nell patted the cushions beside her. "Come sit. I trust you're not angry with me."

"No, milady," Leslie answered honestly. "It had to be done."

"I knew your father quite well. His men held him in the highest esteem. He was a natural leader." The old woman thoughtfully watched the young girl's face brighten with pride. "That would not necessarily make him the perfect father for a girl."

"Some might think so." Leslie's eyes turned cloudy in remembrance. "Of course, when I was growing up it seemed perfectly natural he should treat me like a boy, leaving me pretty much on my own. There were few English families at the places he was posted, so I had little opportunity to compare. When I was old enough to see what was required of English girls, I was relieved at how much simpler my life was. It wasn't Pax's fault, milady. I had many years to perfect my role."

"Men, my dear, are seldom perceptive. They pride themselves on being able to see the big picture, which only means they cannot see the details of life that make everything so much more interesting," the old lady concluded drily.

Leslie sank down on the window seat, smiling affectionately at the comfortable little woman. Despite her outlandish costumes, there was a warm, honest quality that emanated from Lady Titwiliver like the cloud of lavender scent that surrounded her. How different Leslie's own life might have been, had she known this woman in her early years. Even now she yearned to unburden herself, securely cushioned against the ample bosom of the older woman.

"Things have a way of working out for the best," Nell remarked in the face of the young girl's bleak expression. "You're totally compromised, gel. Your wedding will stop most of the talk although even at that, it will be a nine days' wonder. Perhaps it's not the most promising start, but your marriage to my nephew may have a surprising conclusion." The old woman did not miss Leslie's defiant look and clenched fists, and her own forehead furrowed in concern. There was a stubborn, iron-willed streak in the child in sharp contrast to Leslie's meekly spoken agreement. Thoughtfully, Nell rose to her feet, balancing precariously on her heels. Leaning down she gently kissed Leslie on the cheek.

Leslie clung for a moment, enveloped in the lavender embrace, then reluctantly she released the older woman. Her eyes were tearful as she thanked Lady Titwiliver for coming, in her heart wishing it were possible to meet again at another time. Alone, Leslie washed her face, relishing the cold water on her feverish skin. Anticipation of the night ahead lent a false brightness to her eyes and a slight tremor to her hands. With a quivering sigh, Leslie looked around the room for the last time. Then straightening her shoulders, she stalked resolutely to the door.

Fog shrouded the buildings, miasmic fingers swirling before Leslie's eyes. She stumbled against a tree root, stopping to get her bearings in the unreality of the night. A muffled whinny off to her left pulled her in the correct direction to the anxious group waiting beside the glade of trees.

"Here, Daffadar." Manji's whisper was harsh as he reached out and grasped the arm of the little figure. Quickly, he enveloped her in the warm greatcoat and pushed a beaver hat onto her curls. Then, before Leslie could speak, he threw her up onto the back of one of the hunters and reached for the reins of his own horse. Jacko was already mounted and led the others in a slow walk across the fields and away from Windhaven. Steadily, their speed increased until they connected with the main road. As the moonlit ribbon of road unraveled ahead of them, the threesome sprang their horses and galloped through the light misting rain. It was almost ten-thirty before they reached the coaching inn, the Silver Stallion.

"Khuda Hafiz, little one."

"God protect you also, Manji." Leslie threw herself into the mighty embrace of her friend, shaken at their imminent separation. Although she was frightened at leaving him behind, she knew Manji was correct. With him in their party, they would be far too noticeable. "We will get word to you as soon as we are settled."

"We will meet again," Manji said fatalistically. He stood immobile as Leslie and Jacko boarded the mail coach, his eyes never leaving the boyish figure until the coach wheeled out of the innyard.

Wedged between Jacko and the window, Leslie stared blindly out at the darkened countryside. Though the old man dozed fitfully as the coach lumbered through the night, she could only try to blank out the roiling thoughts flashing through her mind. She pressed her hand to her chest as though to ease the pain of her separation from so many things she loved. In the haunted hours of the night, Leslie felt the numbness of despair clawing at her heart and desolation filled her.

Manji rode quietly into the stable yard. His huge hamlike hand held the lead rope of the other two horses as he dropped agilely to the hard-packed earth. He took a step forward then raised his head, scenting danger. Without surprise, his eyes acknowledged the presence of the furious man who stepped away from the sheltering stable walls.

"I ought to beat you within an inch of your life." The quietly spoken words were laced with controlled fury as Pax stomped toward the enormous figure.

Since he towered over the Duke, a corner of Manji's mouth quirked upward in amusement. The big man nodded his head regretfully, suspecting Pax, in his anger, would be able to give him a good fight. "You would win, Sahib. I have promised the little one I would see you came to no harm."

"Damn!" Pax slapped the quirt into his gloved hand, relishing the bite of the crop against the leather. "Where is Leslie?"

Sadly, Manji shook his baldhead. His drooping moustache hung dejectedly as he stared without blinking into the blazing black eyes of his master. He shuffled his feet restlessly, looking over his shoulder at the tired horses.

"Jamie! Peter!" Pax bellowed into the stable.

The stable boys came at a run, and the Duke gave succinct orders for the care of the prodigal cattle. Then he jerked his head for Manji to follow and headed back to the main house. Once inside the library, he turned to face the fierce-looking figure. In the five years since Manji's arrival, Pax had come to respect the intelligence of the surprisingly gentle giant. He was a faithful worker although his first allegiance had always been to Leslie. Never, until this moment, had Pax regretted taking on the man who had risen from stablehand to headgroom in the intervening years. Pax realized that Manji's devotion to Leslie would supersede any appeal he himself might make for the older man's cooperation.

"I am Leslie's guardian, Manji. Her father, the Captain, gave me that authority."

"The Captain is dead, Sahib, much to my regret. Since then, I take my orders directly from the little one." There was no insolence in the groom's voice, only a mournful reasonableness. His whole demeanor reflected sadness; even his moustache appeared limp. "In all else, I am yours to command."

"In this case, you can only harm the girl with your silence," Pax stated calmly. "We have grown to respect each other in these past years. Despite my anger at Leslie's masquerade, you must know I would never willfully hurt the child."

Slanting blue eyes bored into Pax's, probing the hidden crevasses of his mind. Doubt showed for a moment, then was erased as the giant's shoulders straightened to attention.

"I believe that to be true," he began hesitantly. "But the Daffadar wished to leave. She has no wish to marry."

Pax whirled in frustration, gripping the mantelpiece to maintain control. Although he also was less than thrilled, he was resigned to the marriage, realizing he had no choice in the matter. His reputation might survive this scandal but Leslie herself would be ruined beyond repair. Turning to Manji, he spoke slowly and brutally to make the man understand the absolute necessity of finding the young girl.

"The Captain's daughter is of the English noble class. By staying with me here at Windhaven, she has compromised herself," he stated, halting at the puzzlement in the older man's eyes. Pax floundered for words that would bridge the gap in the mixed-breed's understanding of British culture. Finally he continued, "She has made herself impure, an outcast to the rest of her class. No one will speak to her or invite her to dine. No man of her class will ever marry her. But every man of her acquaintance will attempt to bring her to bed. As an outcast, she will have no protection except you and Jacko."